


Spark

by rispacooper



Category: Being(s) In Love, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dragon Stiles Stilinski, Dragons, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Kate Argent, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek had never actually seen Stiles in his full dragon form. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. The first time Derek had properly met Stiles, spoken with him, he’d had a hard time not reacting to the heat of him, far too reminiscent of the lick of flames at Derek’s skin. Dragons exuded heat, Derek had known that, intellectually. They might look like cold-blooded reptiles but they were creatures of fire. </p><p>Derek did not have good memories of fire. Stiles couldn’t have been expected to remember that, but it hadn’t helped that he’d focused on Derek with those impossibly wide eyes of lustrous brown and then let out of a puff of marijuana-scented breath and announced he’d take Derek instead of a sandwich.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YolandaAsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YolandaAsh/gifts).



> This is a fusion of Teen Wolf and the Being(s) in Love series, written for Yolandaash (and everyone on Tumblr who asked). 
> 
> Basically, magical creatures are known, if not exactly understood. Fairies and dragons and werewolves and the like run around falling in love, but the werewolves are different from the Beacon Hills versions. Everything else is about the same, except that Stiles is, you know, a dragon.

Derek stopped immediately inside the doorway to Stiles’ shop. He needed a moment to process what he was seeing. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected--boxes everywhere, maybe, or dozens of shelves, cluttered with old pieces of junk and a few valuables. At the very least, he thought he’d see dust. Stiles might be half-dragon, but he was also young, and Derek had seen him wear the same t-shirt for days. When he’d first met Stiles, he’d taken that for a sign of laziness. Lately Derek had realized it wasn’t laziness as much as it was a matter of focus. Stiles focused on what he thought he was important, and laundry likely wasn’t one of those things. 

Perhaps for that very reason nothing in the shop’s warm exterior smelled of dirt or mold. There was some must, that aged book smell, hints of old varnish, but those would have been in any antique shop. Derek raised his head to sniff out the puzzling, tingling scent of magic, but though it made his nose itch briefly, he didn’t sneeze. He’d long since gotten used to the magic Stiles carried with him. The addition of whatever magical knick-knacks were in the store didn’t make much difference. The protective wards didn’t matter either. They extended from the antique shop to the bakery next door and only responded to threats. Derek was a werewolf but he was hardly a threat, even if some humans still couldn’t recognize that. 

Humans were far more frightening as far as Derek was concerned, and wondered if Stiles agreed. There were several security cameras positioned throughout the shop; not magic at all. Maybe that was the Sheriff’s influence. 

Derek sniffed the air again, searching for sweet weed smells, and greater magic, and the almost-solid scent of something he was starting to think of as _wood_ although it smelled nothing like an actual tree. Scents for Derek were sometimes more of a feeling than anything else. _Instinct_ , his parents would say, and Derek hadn’t felt the need to dig for a further explanation. Some scents were more symbolic than factual. Stiles had a scent like that. 

Sometimes, in the right place, at the right time, Derek thought Stiles smelled like the large, old-growth trees out in the Preserve. But mostly Stiles smelled like magic, and whatever he’d last eaten, and marijuana. Derek took a deeper breath, seeking out the hint of maturity, of oak and iron will, and felt his shoulders ease when he found it. 

Stiles had to be around. Derek was warm under his clothes, and probably flushed. He glanced up toward one camera, then frowned and came further inside. He paused at a glass counter to stare down at ornamental daggers, a brooch, and several comic books. The brooch looked like something Derek would see on _Mysteries at the Museum_. Which was a show he enjoyed and liked to watch before bed, and which his sisters mocked him for relentlessly as a sign of his supposedly sad, boring life. 

Until now he would have said Stiles would have teased him for it too, since Stiles lived to call Derek, “grandpa” and “old man,” but looking at this collection made Derek reconsider. They could have done an entire episode of _Mysteries at the Museum_ in Stiles’ shop, and Derek knew enough about dragons to know that everything in here was something Stiles wanted to be in here. 

Considering how often Stiles had invited Derek over, it was strange that he hadn’t come out to greet him yet. Derek ventured deeper into the dragon’s lair, following the warmth and increasing scent of Stiles, and stopping once or twice to examine something on display. The comics were not a surprise. The real surprise was how Stiles made money, since more things seemed to come into the shop than left it. Stiles did not let go of things easily, which could have been a dragon thing or a Stiles thing. Derek had never met another dragon to ask, although some had to be fairly close to the area, as Stiles traveled a few times a year to visit his mother’s side of the family. 

The antique shop, and Stiles’ apartment above it, were closed and dark on those days, and cold. The bakery was colder then too, as cold as it had been this morning, even with all the ovens in use. So cold it was probably Derek’s imagination. A dragon was a walking furnace, but Stiles had no connection to the heat system or even the kitchen. Most of the ovens were modern. Only one required an actual fire to bake the bread. Although that was the hook that had really put Derek’s bakery on the map. 

Derek could practically hear Stiles cackling at that old-fashioned expression. If Stiles could read minds, he was probably calling Derek “grandpa” right now, like he had when he’d seen Derek’s perfectly acceptable Toyota for the first time. 

Derek frowned up at the cameras again and considered pushing something to the floor to get Stiles’ attention. Common sense stopped him. He couldn’t afford to replace anything, and anyway, he had no reason to be upset. Stiles had done his job, so to speak, and come over to light that one oven using his dragon fire. Technically, Stiles didn’t even work for Derek. He wandered in from his shop a few times a day to personally light the fire in the brick oven, because people in this town were convinced their bread tasted better when it was baked in an oven heated with dragon fire. 

Derek’s recipes and work in the kitchen had nothing to do it, apparently. Although his regulars assured him it was a combination of the two. The best bread around, but with an indefinable something extra. 

Getting Stiles to do it had been Erica’s idea. Stiles was always in the bakery anyway. At the time, Derek had assumed Erica had been interested in their local dragon and that the interest had been returned. They certainly exchanged enough banter to make Derek grit his teeth and slam his office door closed to try to tune them out. But of course, Stiles had opened the door and followed him in and agreed to do it, in exchange for sandwiches of all things. He wasn’t even getting paid. For a dragon, he was terrible at collecting riches. 

And if he’d been chasing after Erica, nothing had ever come of it. As it turned out, when it came to the bakery, Erica was all business. There was a reason Derek had her supervising all the college students and friends of Cora’s that trickled through the place. The other day Erica had suggested expanding into cakes, instead of just breads and breakfast pastries, but Derek wasn’t sure. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Boyd could do it. Boyd’s skills were wasted on the morning pastries. But it would mean overhauling the kitchen and hiring someone to deal with the party planners and brides, and Derek liked the operation as it was. Everyone was close. He could keep an eye on them, and there was enough work to keep him busy. If he let Erica or Boyd take over more management duties, he’d have free time. And then his family would start in again. 

Derek didn’t want to date. He wasn’t afraid, but if he was, there was nothing wrong with caution. He wasn’t going to risk everything again for just anyone. There had to be something special, a spark. 

He shivered as his body adjusted to the heat. Instinct had him breathing harder for a moment, glancing around as if he expected to find a predator. Which was ridiculous; Stiles wasn’t a predator. Stiles was loud-mouthed, and often arrogant, and had a tendency to think faster than he could speak until his words stopped making sense to anyone but him, but he was no predator. Although sometimes his excitement broke through the haze of smoke around him and lit up the room like firecrackers or bolts of lightning, and with the smoke gone he was suddenly a sleek, dangerous, knowing figure, grown into his considerable power. That was when he smelled as stubborn and great as tangled branches of oak. That was when Derek would meet his eyes and feel a sudden flash of heat, or panic, something that made his hackles rise, telling Derek to either stand and fight or run. 

But then, Stiles was dragon. Or part dragon, as Stiles was always quick to point out. His father was all too human although Stiles resembled his mother, down to the fire-breathing and scales. 

Well, hint of scales. Derek had never actually seen Stiles in his full dragon form. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. The first time Derek had properly met Stiles, spoken with him, he’d had a hard time not reacting to the heat of him, far too reminiscent of the lick of flames at Derek’s skin. Dragons exuded heat, Derek had known that, intellectually. They might look like cold-blooded reptiles but they were creatures of fire. 

Derek did not have good memories of fire. Stiles couldn’t have been expected to remember that, but it hadn’t helped that he’d focused on Derek with those impossibly wide eyes of lustrous brown and then let out of a puff of marijuana-scented breath and announced he’d take Derek instead of a sandwich. 

Stiles’ friend Scott, the most open and friendly human Derek had ever met, had slapped Stiles’ shoulder and exclaimed, “Dude!” As if he, at least, had manners. Derek had barked for them both to get out, then left when Erica, in cahoots with a smirking Laura, had insisted Derek shouldn’t turn away customers. 

And yes, Derek used the phrase “in cahoots.” Stiles thought it was hilarious. Stiles was also high half the time. Derek couldn’t begin to imagine the sheer amount Stiles would have to smoke to even start to feel intoxicated.

Yet his store was well-maintained. Things were in their place, maybe even obsessively so. Derek was anal, according to Laura, but his office wasn’t half as neat as this shop. 

This shop that could have been abandoned for all that Stiles was hiding in the back somewhere. As usual, Derek couldn’t hear anything. He was starting to think Stiles used magic to muffle any noises he made so he could sneak up on Derek on a regular basis. He was also beginning to think that Stiles was mad at him about something, since he still hadn’t come out. 

All those invitations for Derek to come see his shop and now Stiles was nowhere to be found. Derek scowled directly into one of the cameras. “Stiles.”

It was no kind of a name for a dragon. Derek had looked that up too, on the office computer, far from his sisters’ prying eyes. Dragons across all cultures gave their children powerful names. Stiles’ real name was Polish, Iskrzyć, or something like it. Derek had tried to find out what it meant but hadn’t been able to figure out the spelling. Stiles evidently didn’t like it however it was spelled, so he went by a shortened version of his last name. 

Derek clenched his jaw when Stiles didn’t answer and set down the paper bag of food he’d been holding. He raised his voice. “I know you know I’m here, Stiles.” 

“Of course I do.” Stiles appeared as if Summoned. Derek saw him at the edge of his vision and took a breath before he turned to look at him directly. The air seemed to waver, with heat, probably, but Derek wasted a moment imagining Stiles lounging with a pipe or his ridiculous hookah, surrounded by curls of smoke like the Caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. 

Inside his lair, Stiles seemed larger, _felt_ larger. He was tall against the doorway to the back of the shop. The effect was not lessened by his sloppy graphic t-shirt and jeans, probably because they revealed his bare arms with the gleaming hint of scales, which were either beneath the skin or a part of it, Derek was never sure which it was. It _was_ skin, warm-looking and alive, and yet it was shining gold too, darker like old metal at Stiles’ fingernails, which were claws in his true form. Derek stared at Stiles’ long, slender fingers where they wrapped around the door frame before making himself look up. 

The warm hues, pale and then brown and then gold again, continued at Stiles’ throat, making it plain that though Stiles might look like the average twenty-something human in the right light, he wasn’t. His hair, a silky mess that Stiles sometimes shaved down closer to his skull, was as brown as burnished wood, and his eyes were the same unless Stiles was upset about something. Then they were as gold as a were’s. At the moment they were narrowed and blazing bright, almost as if Stiles was pissed off. 

“Derek Hale finally in my shop,” Stiles spoke smoothly despite the sudden blast of heat in the room. “Did hell freeze over?” 

Derek met Stiles’ gaze and felt his frown intensify to what Stiles and Scott would have called epic proportions. The temperature was making his face warm. 

“This was a mistake. Never mind,” Derek announced abruptly and turned. He made it one step before Stiles was at his side, reaching for Derek without ever once letting his hands touch him. Derek stopped anyway. “I regret bringing you anything,” he heard himself saying. Worse, his tone was embarrassingly petulant. He was blaming his unusually late night. 

“No no no, don’t go!” Stiles’ twisted around Derek until Derek turned back, and then Stiles was straight and tall in front of him. He grinned. “You brought me something?” Stiles reached out again, all greedy fingers, but once more stopped short of actually touching Derek when Derek went tense. 

Inexplicably, Derek thought of the one and only time Stiles _had_ touched him. It stood out, perhaps because Stiles wasn’t so careful with everyone else. Stiles was more like a were than a dragon in that respect; all easy, comfortable contact with the people he liked. He touched his friends as he talked, casually but not, his arms possessively at their back or draped over their shoulders, his gaze direct and challenging, as if he wanted someone to come and try to take what was his. 

Derek wasn’t his. Perhaps that was the difference. What Stiles’ friends didn’t mind, Derek did. Derek wasn’t there to be flirted with, and he wasn’t there to be one more thing in Stiles’ collection of oddities. 

Stiles pulled his hands down to his sides. Derek gestured at the paper bag, which contained a chicken, brie, and pesto sandwich on a focaccia roll, wrapped in paper and still warm. He grunted. “You didn’t come in this morning.” 

“You missed me?” The disbelief in Stiles’ tone felt mocking, though it was probably genuine. Derek started to shake his head but then Stiles parted his lips to lick at them. He often did that, as if drawing attention to his perfect mouth, although it actually meant he was sniffing things. A dragon’s sense of smell was sharp, although nothing to a were’s. Derek wanted to sniff him back, get close enough that for once he could find the real scent of Stiles and not the distractions of smoke and youth. He’d have to be near the skin for that. His heart beat faster at the thought. 

Stiles considered Derek, and whatever he had smelled on him. His mouth curved up in a familiar smug smile, but then he let out a breath when Derek crossed his arms. “I didn’t think you’d be in this morning.” Stiles explained his absence at last. He was quiet until he spoke again. Then his words were biting. “After your date.” 

Derek gave a small start and then turned briefly to glare through the walls of the shop and the bakery, hoping that his sisters would feel it. He didn’t know who had told Stiles about his date, or why. It wasn’t a big deal. Derek hadn’t even wanted to go out, but his family kept pressuring him to try again, telling him that not everyone was going to be a psycho like Kate, that despite the fire she’d set at the house after he’d broken up with her, no one had been seriously hurt. They insisted if Derek looked around, if he just let himself look, he’d find someone to make him happy. They wouldn’t shut up about it. 

Then Cora had suggested some guy in one of her community college classes. Everything about it had been all wrong, but Derek had gone to make his family feel better. The initial meeting had convinced him there was nothing there, and he had been relieved. It meant he could walk away without worry. Of course, he still wasn’t sure what he would have done if he had felt something for the guy. 

Run, probably. The last thing Derek needed was heat under his skin and the muddled, heady thinking of lust. He had work. He had friends. He had his family. That was enough. Even if his family had called him all night to demand details of his date and then acted unsurprised when he’d informed them he hadn’t even felt a need to attempt a kiss. His family was crazy, overprotective of Derek one moment, practically flinging him in the direction of available singles the next. 

“I had to be up early. I wasn’t out late.” Derek filled Stiles in with an annoyed snort. He didn’t want Stiles joining his family in worrying about his sex life. “I wasn’t missing anything. There was no spark.” 

For a small, still moment as Stiles mouth slid into a pleased smile, Derek thought of Stiles’ hands on him again, those fingers brushing over his shoulders to calm him, those dark, blunt nails scratching through the short hair at the back of his neck, and felt newly aware of how hot it could be standing close to Stiles. That lingering heat of oak-scent seemed to call to him. 

The surge of electricity through his body made him startle and take a step back. Derek shook his head. “You didn’t come in,” he said again, though he was certain he’d said it before.

Stiles lifted his chin. “Your fire was lit, wasn’t it?” 

Derek hadn’t growled in anger since the trial, if he didn’t count almost every time he lost an argument with Stiles. Which was basically every time he argued with Stiles. 

But he restrained himself at Stiles’ belligerent tone. “Yes, but you--” He became suddenly, stupidly aware that of course Stiles _had_ come in, he simply hadn’t stopped to bug Derek this time. He almost always stopped to talk to Derek, slipping into the kitchen in the morning and filling it with clouds of heat like burning wood, like the oven he diligently lit every day, like non-stop glowing embers only momentarily banked down but waiting for something, one simple, little act to set off an inferno. 

Derek blinked at the fanciful thought, then shook his head. “It’s colder in the bakery today,” he complained. He had a feeling he was blushing. 

Stiles cocked his head to the side. “So wear one of your ridiculous sweaters, grandpa.” 

“I should have expected that.” Derek rolled his eyes. “You really are a child sometimes.”

“This coming from the prematurely old man?” Stiles leaned forward to enunciate every word into Derek’s face. “I’m not the one running here.” 

Derek didn’t retreat this time. He gave Stiles another epic frown. “What does that mean?” 

“Nothing,” Stiles sighed. But then the expression in his eyes turned calculating. “However, now that I’ve got you here in my fine establishment and lair… can I interest you in anything?” He dragged a hand over the glass counter top. Derek caught himself staring at his fingers and brought his eyes up. 

“You would actually let something go?” he asked in surprise, but broke eye contact when Stiles murmured, “Not if I can help it,” and smiled enough to show teeth. Stiles looked like a were when he did that, and Derek didn’t know what to do when it happened, other than maybe bare his throat. His heart was so loud now Stiles probably heard it, so Derek stepped away to examine another display case. Stiles followed him, but at a distance. 

“It’s an interesting collection,” Derek offered after a while, thinking about museums again, although museums were dirty words to dragons, who did not like to share. 

“Such praise from our resident sourwolf, I might swoon!” Stiles clapped his hands together, a sarcastic ass, as always. But he came around to the other side of the case and peered down, putting their heads close together. “Do you really think so?” he wondered quietly, tracing something into the glass by Derek’s hand. “It can be a little much for some people.”

Derek wasn’t especially creative about labeling common, everyday scents, but he would have said Stiles was catlike, curious. Stiles was usually curious though, so it wasn’t much of a guess. Derek huffed at him for the first comment but stopped to reconsider the place, because if humans got nervous around a werewolf being himself, or assumed all sorts of bullshit about werewolves that wasn’t true because they saw it in a movie, they definitely didn’t know what to do with a possessive, hungry dragon around. Stiles wasn’t some lumbering giant ready to be slayed by a knight; Stiles was more like a crafty serpent, ready to bargain, or strike, as the case may be. 

“It’s nice,” Derek admitted gruffly, because he wasn’t totally lacking in social skills, no matter what Cora said. He wasn’t any ruder than Stiles at least. He pointed down. “Are those enchanted weapons?” Those were possibly contraband, but Stiles likely got away with it because they were antiques. 

Derek glanced up again in time to catch the soft, unguarded expression on Stiles’ face. “Yeah.” Stiles let out a breath. “You know my dad. You know about the incident with the witch.” Stiles’ dad was the sheriff, and though using magic with malicious intent was illegal, that rarely stopped criminals. Still, the spell that had hit the Sheriff a few years ago had been astonishingly strong and brutal. Stiles happened to be there when it hit, which was the only reason the Sheriff had survived. The Sheriff insisted it was something he had to deal with in the line of duty. Stiles clearly disagreed. He shrugged despite his obvious worry when he thought about his dad. “I thought they’d be good to have around. In case.” 

He raised his head with no warning. “Don’t tell me you don’t approve, Derek. We need them. You never know what we could be up against someday.”

Derek hadn’t said that, but he felt the need to protest anyway. “You aren’t a cop, Stiles.” His voice sounded harsh to his own ears. “You could get hurt.”

Stiles ignored that completely. “But I am dragon,” he hissed, practically rattling. “And my dad is _mine_. I’ll protect him. No matter what.” His golden gaze begged Derek to agree. “I know you understand that, Derek. I know you do.” 

Derek did, which was probably why Stiles was bothering to explain himself to him. It was no surprise that Stiles knew about Kate, although Derek felt like he’d taken a hit to the chest as he wondered what Stiles must think of him. The whole town knew some of the story, or at least what came out at the trial. Several years ago, Derek had been young, and stupid, and mistaken sex for love. And after he had gotten tired of Kate’s expectations of what a werewolf lover ought to be, he’d ended things. Kate had decided to teach him a lesson and tried to burn down Derek’s family’s house, with some of his family in it. 

No one in his family had died, or even been seriously hurt, except for Derek. But he was were, and he had healed. The long-sleeved sweaters Stiles liked to make fun of hid a lot of his scars from prying eyes. Werewolf scars grew over in faint, pale markings so fast that humans forgot that werewolves could scar at all. Most humans; Derek thought Kate had been counting on it. She hadn’t wanted anyone else to want him. 

Derek wasn’t ashamed of them, but he didn’t like the attention they brought. Unless he was baking, he usually had on something with long sleeves. Stiles had seen him baking, so he would have had plenty of opportunity to notice, though he’d never commented until now. 

“You aren’t a fireman, Derek, but you ran back in there anyway. You had to make sure everyone got out.” Stiles put his hand up when Derek flinched. “Don’t deny it. I read the report. And no, you don’t want to know how I got my hands on it.”

Derek couldn’t seem to get air. He lowered his gaze to the counter and swallowed big gulps of oxygen that did nothing to calm him. He focused on the breathing exercises his therapist had recommended, then abandoned those to focus on Stiles. Stiles, concerned for him now but uncertain of what to do about it other than ordering Derek not to freak out as if that would work. Stiles, who had chosen to dig up this information without telling Derek. 

He distantly wondered why. Curiosity wasn’t enough of a motivation for Stiles. He could have looked up the trial online or asked Laura if it was just that. No, he’d done something illegal to find out. That was important, somehow. When Derek was calmer he would have to think about that.

Stiles reached out, placing one hand carefully to the back of Derek’s neck. He couldn’t know how weres felt about anyone touching their neck. Then again, he might, because he’d done it before. Exactly once before, when Derek had been panicking in the same quiet way. 

The bakery’s fire alarm had gone off. A malfunction, as it turned out, but Derek had snapped and shoved Isaac from the kitchen through the back door-slash-emergency exit before trying to push Stiles out too. There was no fire, but all Derek had been able to think about was getting everyone out. 

Then Stiles had stopped him. Dragons possessed surprising strength, not enough to keep a wolf at bay for long, but enough to get their attention. Stiles had met Derek’s wide-eyed stare and slid his hand up from Derek’s arm to Derek’s neck, and Derek had gone quiet and stood there, practically shivering under Stiles’ hand. 

It was so embarrassing he tried to avoid thinking about it, especially how he hadn’t been able to move and had let his gaze fall to the floor when Stiles’ other hand had come up to scratch gently through his hair. The touch had given him something else to focus on but the too-loud blaring of the alarm and the fear that left him cold, and Stiles had been so very hot next to him in that moment. 

He’d realized that Stiles was speaking, assuring Derek that there was no fire, that Stiles had warded the bakery as thoroughly as he’d warded his own shop, and if there had been a fire he would have known before any smoke would have reached the detectors. 

Then Laura had come in, equally panicked, with a fire extinguisher in each hand, and shouted something obscene at the malfunctioning alarm system, and Derek had pulled away from Stiles and gone outside to breathe cool, safe air. 

He hadn’t known Stiles done that, but it was starting to make more sense to him the longer he knew Stiles. Dragons watched out for what was theirs. People assumed that meant treasure, which it did, but it also meant the people the dragons cared about. Stiles would gleefully roast and devour anyone who threatened the people he loved. 

Derek met that shiny gaze, then looked away. He trusted Stiles to watch over the bakery and everyone in it. He trusted Stiles as though Stiles was pack, and thinking that, consciously, shouldn’t have been as calming as it was. 

Stiles drew his fingers up to the edge of Derek’s hair and gave a scratch. He made a noise, eager and a little pleading, and Derek briefly closed his eyes. 

His mouth was dry. “Don’t forget your sandwich,” he reminded Stiles roughly, then straightened. Stiles’ hand fell away. He curled it over the glass.

“Not hurrying back?” He spoke after a few moments of silence. 

Derek glanced over. Stiles regarded him steadily, with only the faintest tension around his jaw. He was either still annoyed with Derek or was making his mind up about something. 

If he was reminding Derek to leave, he was right. Derek ought to go. He had work to do. Work Erica and his sisters could handle just fine, at least until the lunch rush. 

But he felt dismissed, and drew his eyebrows together. “You want me to go?”

“No. No!” Stiles waved his hands around in an urgent gesture but didn’t come out from behind the counter. He sounded exasperated. “Of course I don’t. We’ve been through this, Derek. I would…” He was so excited his voice cracked, which made him scowl and turn away. He was so young sometimes for all his power. He turned back right as Derek was wondering why Stiles hadn’t gone off to college with his friends, and stayed in town to open his shop and look after his dad. Stiles’ eyes were no longer glowing. They looked ancient. “I’d love it if you would stay for a while.” 

Derek’s heartbeat began to quicken all over again. 

Stiles' tone was serious. Derek didn’t wet his mouth or extend his tongue to find scents the way Stiles did, but he parted his lips as he discreetly tried to sniff out Stiles’ meaning. There was no marijuana in the air around Stiles today, and nothing recent in the shop for that matter. Cinnamon and clove wafted over from the back every once in a while. He had found those spices on Stiles last week as well. In fact, that’s all he had found lately when he’d leaned in to find Stiles’ scent. The pot smoke had become less and less frequent in recent months. 

Scott had told him all dragons smoked, that they could be surprisingly self-conscious about their so-called dragon breath. But most didn’t bother with intoxicants that barely worked on them. That Stiles did was probably due to his age. 

Now all that was gone, maybe had been for a while, and Derek hadn’t noticed. He started to ask, then thought better of it. Stiles was growing up. That was all.

Derek inched closer and drew in a long breath, then held it. Without distractions, Stiles was earthy and real, warm and real and anything but sweet. Again, his scent reminded Derek of an oak, but there was more to it, something brighter or hotter. He exhaled, then took another breath. 

“If you want to smell me, just ask,” Stiles whispered into Derek’s ear. Derek jerked back. He hadn’t realized they’d gotten that close. He opened his mouth to object that he hadn’t been covertly sniffing Stiles, but the smartass curve of Stiles’ mouth stopped him. 

Stiles raised his eyebrows and began to speak in a pleasant, businesslike tone. “Was this what caught your eye, sir?” he inquired politely and bent to unlock the display case. Derek shook his head, since he’d been too upset to notice what was in the case, but Stiles pulled out the statuettes anyway. “During the 1920s, wealthy American humans were fascinated with what they thought of as “exotic” decor. Which makes these two bookends not only interesting for what they depict, but valuable due to their age and the quality of production. Of course, that probably isn’t why you were looking at these lovely ebony and gilt figures of Anubis. Did you know there is currently debate about whether Anubis really was supposed to represent a jackal—or part jackal—or if he was supposed to be a wolf? These would look good in your office, even if he’s not a wolf after all.” 

Now that the bookends were out, Derek could see exactly how beautiful they were, and guess the cost. He sighed, because they _would_ look good in his office. He kept meaning to decorate the office and never got around to it. “I can’t afford those, Stiles,” he admitted. “My money is all in the bakery.”

“Derek, Derek, Derek.” Stiles shook his head as if Derek was missing the point, then pushed the bookends forward. “Take them, if you want them. I don’t mind. What’s mine is… This is so much harder than they said it would be,” he muttered. He cleared his throat when Derek arched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t give me your grumpy old man eyebrows. I mean it. What’s mine is yours.” He exhaled like that had hurt to say and curved his fingers against the glass again, as if he needed to hold onto something. 

“I couldn’t.” Derek couldn’t seem to stop staring. “Stiles, it’s already too much that you let us use your fire.” 

Stiles reared back. “I _gave_ you my--never mind.” He crossed his arms and glowered, glowered at Derek, and managed to shine while doing it. When Derek looked at him blankly, he uncrossed his arms to drag his hands through his hair. Then he slapped his hands on the top of the cases and drew himself forward. “Take the bookends, Derek.”

Derek knew better than to argue. He lost ninety percent of arguments with Stiles. They both knew it. But he opened his mouth anyway. “I don’t want to take your treasure from you.” 

The drum of Stiles’ fingers on the glass was loud and furious. They might as well have been claws. “Fucking unbelievable.” Stiles swore, _not_ under his breath, not that that would matter with a werewolf in the room. 

His scent was growing stronger, which was either proximity or Derek’s newly found awareness of it. He breathed it in, couldn’t help himself, and narrowed his eyes. He was in a dragon’s lair and he was still considering grabbing Stiles by his shirt and hauling him forward until he made sense, or his scent did. He blinked and tried to recover his voice. “You’ve been trying to say something since I came in here. You have a problem, Stiles?” 

“Yes,” Stiles snapped back. “All I need now is _you_ concerned about my treasure.” 

That hurt, for no reason Derek could name. “Fine,” he snapped in return. “I don’t care about your treasure.” 

“Liar.” Stiles immediately jabbed a finger in his face, which Derek caught and did not release. Stiles continued to try to poke him. “What you don’t know about treasure would fill volumes.” 

Derek had been trying to be nice. “I’m not a dragon. Of course I don’t know anything about treasure. Even sober you are incapable of reason, aren’t you?”

“Reason!?” Stiles practically yelped. “ _Now_ the wolf wants to talk with reason.” 

“I really enjoy having fights where I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” Derek released Stiles’ finger and glanced away. “I don’t know why I came over here.”

“That’s the truly sad thing,” Stiles agreed, with pity. “You don’t.” He heaved a sigh that Derek couldn’t help but think of as dejected, then stepped from behind the display and returned to the back of the store. “You haven’t done anything wrong, okay? I think I’m doing something wrong, whatever it is.” He sighed again and didn’t bother to turn around. “Thank you for the sandwich.” 

That was definitely a dismissal. But Derek was a were of an old blood family, not some human who thought worshiping dragons was cool. He should go. Stiles had told him to go. But he wasn’t moving. 

He worked his jaw. “How much do those bookends cost, Stiles? How much are they worth?” The fact that he was growling the words should have made him take a moment. But he didn’t get a chance. 

Stiles turned to face him, all gleaming calculation. He eyed Derek up and down and licked the corner of his mouth. “Is that supposed to intimidate me?” he challenged, too cool for a room that was so hot. ‘Do I seem intimidated?” 

He wet his lips again and Derek paused. He looked down at himself, the way that Stiles had, the way that Stiles always did. His admiration for how Derek looked was familiar. Lots of people looked at weres that way. 

But not when they were arguing with one. Derek wondered distantly if his eyes had changed color. 

“No,” he answered slowly. “No, you seem--” His throat locked, stupidly. Being desired, even by Stiles, was nothing new. Derek had just never acknowledged it out loud. 

“Afraid of the word, grandpa?” Stiles wasn’t moving either. 

“ _Aroused_ ,” Derek finished at last, growling again. He was unprepared for how Stiles reacted, the sheer heat and power that seemed to unfurl around him, as if it had been coiled tightly until Derek had named it. 

This wasn’t news, Derek tried to tell himself. Stiles had been hanging out with Cora and her friends for years. Derek had known him since the tail end of Stiles’ teen years, and Stiles had always made it clear that he wished Derek was on the menu. He had even said it once, following his twenty-first birthday, demanding to know what Derek wanted to spend just a little time with him. 

After Kate, Derek hadn’t wanted to attempt anything. He certainly wouldn’t have tried with an immature, stoner, comic-collecting half-dragon who flirted with everything on two legs. Derek had turned away from those gleaming, burnished eyes, and kept his distance from the intriguingly solid under-scent that represented the true Stiles, the same way he’d kept away from everyone else. 

Until last night. Which was what had started all this. 

Derek frowned and took refuge in sarcasm. “It’s disturbing that you can smell like you want me and call me grandpa at the same time.” 

“So you _have_ been sniffing me.” Stiles swept toward him with restless energy. “What would you prefer I call you, Derek? Mate?” 

And then he froze, as if even Stiles knew he’d gone too far. But he didn’t take it back. 

Derek held himself still as stone, although he tracked Stiles as Stiles crept up to him. 

Humans and other Beings who didn’t understand about mating said a lot of crazy things about it, most of them wrong. There was nothing to it really. On the surface it was simple. Werewolves had heightened senses that even they didn’t fully understand. The things they didn’t understand they called instinct. Sometimes those instincts drew to them a certain person, and they called that mating. It wasn’t like love, exactly, although weres could feel that, with or without finding their mate. In fact, many, if not most, weres never found theirs. 

At heart, all ‘mate’ really meant was your instincts leading you to someone your senses knew would be good for you—the best for you, out of everyone else in the world. A were didn’t need a mate to live or anything, but there was something else behind the instincts, magic maybe, that created a bond when two mates recognized each other. It was a bond that everyone wanted, whether they admitted it or not. 

Or so they said. Derek’s parents insisted the bond happened even if the pair never acknowledged it, and they were mated, so perhaps they knew best. Some weres lately had even started arguing that matings didn’t only involve pairs—proof that not even weres truly understood the concept or what it meant to them. Humans threw the word around as if it was romantic, but it wasn’t a term of endearment and it wasn’t a joke. It went deeper than that. Even Derek couldn’t help but wish for someone who knew him, and loved him even though he was stubborn, could be kind of an ass, and had done something once that had almost gotten his family killed. 

Stiles put a hand on Derek’s arm and let it rest there. 

Derek studied each long, lean finger curved lightly into the purple cotton of his sweater. “If you know about Kate, what happened, you know I don’t deserve a mate,” he said quietly, and felt Stiles give a jolt. 

He thought, distantly, that he should ask how Stiles knew about her, and the fire, if it had only been the police report or if Stiles had asked Laura for details. Worse, he might have asked his mother. Derek’s mother adored Stiles. She would have told him. 

Stiles squeezed Derek’s arm until Derek looked up. “Is _that_ what all this is?” Stiles pressed, an insulting level of disbelief in his tone. Derek scowled at him and was ignored. Stiles tightened his grip and might have pulled Derek forward if Derek had been weaker or human. Then he wrinkled his nose. “You say really stupid things sometimes,” he informed Derek smartly. “I mean, you say stupid things _a lot_. Fortunately, I’ve learned with you to ignore most of what you say and to pay attention to what you do.” 

Stiles let Derek go at that, or at Derek’s continued silence. He flailed for a moment like he had as a teenager, and made a loud, incomprehensible noise of frustration. 

“I don’t value just anything.” If Stiles had been were, he would have been howling. “You’re an asshole, you know that? You’re an asshole in the best way. You’re sarcastic and your sense of humor is so dry that it took me a while to even realize you were joking. On one hand, you know exactly how hot you are and you wear those stupid, sweaty, small t-shirts when you are baking, and I hate you. On the other hand, you have absolutely no idea what you look like, and you make your eyebrows do that thing when I comment on it. There, that thing right now. Eyebrows! I don’t deserve those eyebrows just for admiring your chest or your shoulders or your back or cheekbones or… just pick a feature. Right down to your funny bunny teeth—when you aren’t all wolfy—and your silly woop woop ears.” 

Derek shut his mouth. That was usually best once Stiles got going, even when he was talking nonsense. But he did put his hands up to touch his ears. He’d always thought they stuck out a little but he’d hoped he’d outgrown it. Apparently he hadn’t. 

“You think one bad ex-girlfriend means you can’t trust anyone else ever again, including yourself?” Stiles scoffed at the very idea. “Really, dude? You employ your siblings and your siblings’ starving student friends. You donate your daily unsold bread. In fact, you care more about bread than a meat-eating man-wolf should. You keep your books balanced and pay your bills on time. You drive a boring but safe car. You’re a very respectable werewolf, Derek Hale, and you work hard to be. And you’re also, you know, not bad to look at. How can you say you don’t deserve a mate? That’s…” Stiles darted out his tongue, either still aroused or considering the air before he struck the death blow. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

He stepped in before Derek could think about responding. There was nothing to respond to that. But he met Stiles’ gaze, and then Stiles brought his hand up to the side of Derek’s face. “Mój skarb,” Stiles whispered, then slapped Derek, not so lightly. “Don’t say that again.” 

Derek blinked at the sting and rubbed his face. Stiles lowered his hand without stepping back. 

“What did that mean?” Derek thought it might have been Polish. 

“What?” No one, not even a full human, would have believed Stiles’ sudden innocent about-face. “Nothing.” 

“I could ask the sheriff when he comes in.” Derek rubbed at his face, in case Stiles was feeling guilty. He doubted it. His cheek didn’t even hurt anymore. The slap had been meant more to get his attention. Derek’s siblings had done more than that during arguments and reckless runs under the moon when they’d been children. 

“You would.” Stiles’ dragonly possessiveness included his father’s affection. He still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Derek had gotten the Sheriff to eat a turkey and sprouts sandwich where Stiles had failed. 

Derek took a moment for his single, perfect, victory. “Just because your dad likes me--” 

Stiles jumped all over that. “And why is that, do you think, hmm? Why does my dad like you so much if you are so unlikable?” 

“I didn’t say I was unlikable.” Derek raised his voice, or it had been raised, he wasn’t sure. It was becoming difficult to keep track of anything that wasn’t Stiles and Stiles’ scent. “I said--” He wasn’t going to repeat it. He’d gotten slapped the last time. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about any of this. I don’t know why I came here at all. But since you’re involved in my love life all of the sudden, fine. Lots of weres don’t find a mate, Stiles. It doesn’t mean anything. If you’re going to worry like my family, don’t. I tried dating again, didn’t I? That should be enough.” 

The lights in the shop seemed to dim. “My involvement is not sudden.” Stiles’ voice went from flat to falsely sweet. “But let’s talk about the date. What was his name again? Where does he live? How did it go? Do you need me to scare him? I can be fierce!” He made a possibly playful little snarl sound. Or not so playful. It was hard to tell with Stiles. 

“I already told you there was nothing there.” Derek wasn’t sure why he had, either. It had to be the raw, fresh scent of Stiles, new to Derek’s nose. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

“Maybe I’m pack.” Stiles said it like it was a dare, like he hadn’t realized that Derek had finally figured that out. It had taken him years, but it was true. Stiles was family. He was pack. But that still didn’t make this his business. Derek stared at him without answering and Stiles straightened, eyes flashing with angry determination. “Or maybe you think I have a right to know,” he added. He accused Derek of trying to be intimidating but he was dimming the lights and growing larger with the shadow of his true form. 

Derek huffed at him in disbelief. “And why would I think that?” 

“Because I claimed you first!” Stiles huffed back, sending trails of smoke between them as if he was burning up inside. 

Derek took a step. The items on the shelves behind him rocked but he barely noticed. He hadn’t even realized he was so close to the wall. Stiles didn’t follow him in, but he didn’t have to. He was everywhere. This was his lair, and now that the scent was in Derek’s nose, everything was crackling hot oak and power. “Dragons don’t claim,” Derek argued anyway, his tone far too soft. 

“But weres do.” Stiles had his chin up, but his voice broke with nerves. His heart was racing but he wasn’t lying. He meant every bold word. 

Derek stepped back into the fight. “You said you’d take me instead of a sandwich. As though I was an item on the menu. Claiming a mate isn’t a joke.” 

“Me?” Stiles was indignant for all that his scent was divine. “You made it a joke. You think I’m the kid that used to trip over his feet when you were around, but I’m an adult. I’m a dragon, Derek. _A dragon_. Some people might fear me. But most of them _want_ me to notice them.” 

“So, what, you want me and I’m yours now?” Derek wasn’t snarling, but it was close. “That sounds like something Kate would say.” 

“No!” Stiles protested in that same breaking voice as before. He rubbed at his chest as if Derek was hurting him. “I chose you for mine, yeah. But that means… that means I protect you. I treasure you, even when you’re being a jerk. But I would never hurt you or demand anything. I never have, have I?” He didn’t wait for Derek to shake his head. “I won’t. I… Don’t laugh, okay? I treasure you. I will treasure you. You’re mine. Since always.” 

_Always_ , Derek thought faintly. It was the first of too many rushing thoughts to examine closely. Dragons didn’t find mates, not like weres do. But then, his mother said others felt the bond, but they felt it differently, called it by other names. But if that was so, Derek would feel it too. And he didn’t. 

He couldn’t look away from Stiles’ stubborn frown and wide-open, shining stare. He was so certain. He was sure that someone as remarkable as a dragon, as _this_ dragon, who protected everyone he cared about as if there was no other choice and damn the consequences, could treasure someone like Derek. 

“You said I was boring. You acted like… when you walked in that day,” big and tall and grown up for the first time, “you acted like you had never seen me before, like everything about me was funny.” 

“I said your car was boring,” Stiles defended himself. “And… you were frowning. It was intimidating as hell at the time. I was going to talk to you. I was going to see and talk to Derek Hale. Have you ever seen yourself frown, Derek? It’s beyond epic. It’s fierce. I couldn’t remember what I'd been planning to say. Although I meant it. I’d take you over a sandwich any day.” Stiles paused to study Derek’s sweater. “Now you’re frowning again. I bet your date liked your frown. I bet your date was sweet and patient and safe and all human. Kate was all human.” He jerked his head up. “Do you like humans more than you like Beings? Have you been avoiding anyone magic all this time? Or is it only that you don’t like me?” 

Derek was too taken aback to do more than stare. Stiles made a disgruntled noise and released another puff of smoke. It was oddly spicy. “This is why I dislike being sober around you. I am so much more aware of everything that you are.” The last four words were spoken so quietly that an unspoken fifth word seemed to linger in the air afterword. 

“You didn’t come into the bakery to chat with Erica?” Derek was feeling really stupid. Stiles’ eye roll told him that he _was_ really stupid. But the heat of him said he wanted Derek anyway. It was what Derek believed most in that moment, and he clung to it. This was Stiles, a full grown dragon and a full grown man, insisting that Derek was his. 

“Stiles.” He had to explain this, not get caught up in how Stiles looked at him. “That isn’t. It isn’t enough to say you want someone.” There was warmth everywhere, as if Stiles couldn’t quite control it anymore. Derek shivered and pressed on. “You--” _Can’t claim someone who isn’t willing to be claimed_ , he meant to say. But Stiles probably knew that too, and anyway, the words were stuck somewhere in Derek’s chest, along with a strange shaking sensation and his rapidly beating heart. “You,” he said again, and took a long breath. 

“Me.” Stiles showed his teeth. “Me and you, Derek, unless you’re still scared.” 

Scared wasn’t the word. Derek was trembling. He couldn’t believe he’d missed this. Even knowing he hadn’t wanted to see it was no excuse. He should have seen what this was. But this wasn’t supposed to happen, not to someone like him, not so late after knowing Stiles. 

Derek drew in a long breath full of oaken strength and felt a pang low in his stomach. He imagined slender fingers trailing down his spine. Then he leaned in to inhale again. He was so close to Stiles he could feel Stiles quivering and struggling to keep still. 

“You aren’t running.” Stiles turned his head. He smelled good, so good. Derek didn’t know what he smelled like to Stiles, baking bread, probably. But maybe something else. Maybe dragon senses were different, and he could only sense what Derek was beginning to want. He let out a small, hungry gasp near Derek’s ear. 

Derek’s voice was hoarse. “Stiles.” He couldn’t stop breathing him in, lowering his head until his mouth was almost at Stiles’ throat. The feeling in his stomach was growing, sparking hotter. He thought he recognized it now. 

“Since I first knew you,” Stiles told him softly. “Even though I was a kid. And you didn’t look at me, because you were with _her_ , and I was young.” He placed his hand carefully at the back of Derek’s neck. His fingernails scraped over where Derek was most vulnerable and Derek shuddered. Stiles kept on, not gently. “Then you thought I was kidding, is that it? Because I smoked up with Scott and called you sexy to your face?” 

He pulled himself closer to murmur in Derek’s ear. “Do you even know what you look like when you see me touching someone else? The wolf, Derek, your wolf, I can see it. But you never did anything. You liked me, but you wouldn’t.” He was close enough to feel the pounding of Derek’s heart. 

Derek shut his eyes and focused on Stiles and the scent that would always calm him down. “It’s more than like.” Everything was too much for him to explain now. Stiles had no idea what he’d done, and it was terrifying, but Derek couldn’t let him go. When he could speak, all he could think that was _Stiles_ , and then that Stiles was partly to blame for this. He opened his eyes and embarrassed himself by rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ jaw. “You shouldn’t have hidden your scent from me.” 

“Excuse me, what?” Stiles yanked himself back and fixed Derek with an amazed look. “I hid it? I wasn’t hiding anything! I walked around in t-shirts I’d worn for days to get my scent to tempt you, man! It was part of my plan.” 

“Your plan?” Derek had only come over here to bring Stiles a sandwich, he would swear to it. Stiles seemed to think it had been for some other reason. Come to think of it, so had Laura, who had hummed at him, and Erica, who had winked. “I wanted to know why I’m colder without you around. That’s why I came. Your scent wasn’t there this morning and I needed it.” 

He needed it. 

The rest escaped on a sigh. “You’re my mate.” 

“What?” Stiles pushed himself away with a shocked expression. “Wait, _what_ ,” he demanded a second time, but with some displeasure. “This whole time?” He was pissed, in fact. “I’ve been your mate this whole fucking time?” 

Derek tried to frown but couldn’t. Later, he was going to think about this and realize how many things it explained, like how easy it had been to avoid going on dates with other people, or why he’d allowed Stiles in his kitchen at all, fire or no fire. For now he dragged in a breath and pulled Stiles forward by his t-shirt. He thought the building was shaking. It probably was. That was Stiles getting carried away. The bakery was likely shaking as well. Maybe the entire block. 

“Stiles.” Derek made it stop with the name and then watched Stiles focus on him. 

Stiles curled his hands, like he was grabbing at air. He was waiting for permission, Derek realized, and understood the shaking when his whole body went weak at the thought. “Derek!” Stiles was nearly howling. 

“This is killing you, isn’t it?” Derek was fully cognizant that he was being an ass. Stiles was an ass too. They were mates. It was meant to be. 

“Yesssss.” Stiles grabbed at him, too eager to bother with a dragon’s dignity. “You asshat. That smirk is the worst, Derek.” He put his hands over Derek’s chest and then slid them up to his shoulders. His fingertips traced the shell of Derek’s ear and Derek surprised himself with a slow shiver. “Awesome,” Stiles approved, still sounding young until he leaned in to growl at Derek’s throat. “Mine. Mine all mine all mine. I am going to sex you up so hard. I’m going to fuck you and mark you, just like a werewolf. Is that what you want? Yes. Fuck yes. Mine to love and I will make you feel so good, treasure. Oh, fuck. I have my treasure! This is really happening! Oh wow. Oh fuck. You can mark me too. I don’t mind. I want you to.” 

“Stiles.” Derek tensed despite himself. Any werewolf should have welcomed those words from his mate. And yet, for a moment, Derek thought of Kate. 

Stiles settled a hand at the back of Derek’s neck, and ended his stream of heartfelt, somewhat nonsensical babble. He pressed his mouth to Derek’s throat. The kiss was soft, as werewolf as the gentle scratches through Derek’s hair. Then he pulled away until Derek protested with a short growl. 

Stiles curved his mouth up into that knowing smile. “This makes everything make sense,” he remarked, and touched Derek all over again, his throat, his nape, the tips of his ears, until Derek was hot and not so afraid anymore. Then he tilted his head to the side in clear invitation. 

Derek studied the bared line of Stiles’ throat and wanted to put his mouth to each hint of a golden scale. So he did. 

Stiles made a filthy sound and panted wetly at the ceiling. “Mate. I should have known. I don’t share my fire with just anyone, you know.” 

“Treasure.” Derek nosed beneath Stiles’ ear and felt a sparkling hot surge of possessiveness at the word. “See that you don’t.” 

He didn’t know why that was funny, but Stiles started laughing and didn’t stop until Derek buried his face against his shoulder. 

“I know I smell great, because, you know, dragon! And mate!” Stiles managed to sound sarcastic and aroused together. “But I’m not waiting for a kiss up here. Take your time, grandpa. I haven’t already waited years or anything.” 

Derek was bonded to this, forever, and he was feeling better about it with every second. 

“This is a lot to process,” Derek mumbled at him, and dragged his nose over what bare skin he could find. But it really wasn’t. And when Stiles angled his head to let Derek do whatever he wanted, Derek straightened, made up his mind, and kissed him, right on his perfect mouth.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> "Woop woop ears" came from somewhere on Tumblr in someone's tags. If I had to guess, I'd say rrowr's tags, but I'm not sure. Anyway, the phrase is delightful.


End file.
